


Blue Screen

by travellinghopefully



Series: Jamie and Malcolm [1]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Jamie's mind wanders due to a tiny gap in Malcolm's shirt (thank you tumblr) and....</p><p>not quite as smutty as the other stories with Jamie and Malcolm and set before the events in my other fics - might edit it and extend it, just a little (now with chapter 2)</p><p>much smuttier now....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Baldymorte had arranged a photo shoot at DoSAC some publicity for something pointless. Somehow, Malcolm had been dragged into one shot.

Jamie had found himself standing, looking up, mesmerised. There was a gap, Malcolm’s shirt was somehow slightly rucked up and there was a tiny gap just above his belt, not covered by his tie. Jamie simply stared at the exposed skin, his mouth dry, his hands bunched in fists at his side, his mind entirely blank. 

Baldy and the ponce photographer decided on the next configuration and Malcolm strode off, clutching his inevitable sheaf of documents muttering obscenities “tone, deaf sphincter slut” had a certain ring to it. (Jamie pondered whether the exposed documents were a “secret” leak strategy, as Malcolm never did anything unintentionally.)

What was that? He wasn’t gay, he was 100% certain, well mostly certain that Malcolm wasn’t. Why the fuck had his brain shut down on seeing an inch of Malcolm’s skin. For fuck’s sake, he needed to get a grip.

All he’d wanted to do was get down on his knees, pull, no rip Malcolm’s shirt aside and taste his skin. Slide his tongue over that strip of flesh. He imagined the hint of salt, and a taste that would be uniquely Malcolm. His thoughts went further, undoing Malcolm’s belt, sliding down the zip, stroking him, making him hard, taking him in his mouth and driving him wild.

Shit!

He was standing in the middle of the concourse, slack jawed having a waking wet dream about his boss.

He spun on his heel and made for the gents, hoping no-one noticed how conspicuously aroused he was. Malcolm noticed everything, but thankfully, he’d already gone.

Jamie locked the door of the cubicle and tried to clear his thoughts. 

A quick wank wasn’t/didn’t mean anything. His cock was so fucking hard it would be an act of mercy, and OK, thinking about his boss was weird, but currently so fucking hot.

He gritted his teeth and realised he was imagining what sounds Malcolm would make. He knew he’d growl, but would he moan, would he whimper, would he say Jamie’s name?

Fucking, fucking, fuck.

Jamie’s hand moved furiously and he came so hard he felt his knees give and he had to brace himself, lower his head and breathe open mouthed until he came down from the high and everything began to stop whirling.  
Amazing, fucking weird, but amazing.

Jamie cleaned himself up, straightened his clothes, went over to one of the sinks and splashed water over his face. Gripping the sides of the sink hard he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Even for him, he looked fucking rough. He’d shaved and showered this morning, but his hair needed cutting and his clothes hung on him liked he still wore his older brother’s hand me downs.

What?

When had he ever worried what he looked like? What did Malcolm see when he looked at him? He heard what people said, that Malcolm had had him constructed in a lab somewhere from bits of old psychopaths.

Was that all he was? Malcolm’s Rottweiler? He would do, and had done anything for him, and always would.

He rubbed his face and grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried himself viciously. He crumpled them into a tiny ball and threw them in the bin and stormed back to his office. He was angry , he didn’t know at what, but he was fucking angry.

...................................

The end of an interminable day. Baldy insisted they sit and “unpack” the events. Just one cunt after another fucking up in the worst imaginable ways. It had reached such a critical mass of shit that there was the possibility some of the stories would cancel each other out. The media could only lead with one thing and in the chum induced feeding frenzy maybe, just maybe some of the mess could be buried and never spoken of again. Jamie winced at the hours of time the necessary reshuffle would take, the briefings, the training, the press releases. 

He swore. 

He was surprised that Malcolm’s phones hadn’t melted and he’d not succumbed to a stroke. He’d run 2 mobiles, one landline and his computer whilst shouting at everyone else. 

He was now slumped in a chair, looking utterly wrecked, killing what little time there was ‘til the papers went to press and re-hashing everything that was online. He’d loosened his tie and yanked his collar open, one hand closed round a tumbler of whiskey, the other shading his eyes.

Baldy offered them each a cigar (what the fuck were they celebrating?).

Jamie declined, but watched in fascination as Malcolm accepted. Malcolm ran the length of the cigar between his fingers, twirling and squeezing. He accepted the cutter and snipped the end firmly and cleanly. Jamie couldn’t grasp why he found this quite so captivating. Malcolm slid the wrapper off and ran the cigar under his nose to savour the aroma. He felt his mind start to burn and crisp at the edges when Malcolm licked his lips and sucked slowly and firmly on the cigar, rolling it in the flame to ignite it evenly. He watched as Malcolm pulled the smoke into his mouth and watched his eyes flutter closed in enjoyment. He slowly blew out a mouthful of smoke and took a sip from his glass. His tongue darted out to catch an amber drop sliding down the heavy crystal. 

Jamie had long since stopped listening to anything at all, he just focused his entire being on watching Malcolm’s mouth and lips and hands. Malcolm apparently listened to what Baldy was saying about “fire fighting” and “damage limitation”, supplying expletives as punctuation, too exhausted to contribute anything more constructive, spent from saving too many wrecks.

He continued to watch Malcolm suck upon the cigar between his lips and turn it between his long, thin fingers. Jamie had always thought of Malcolm’s fingers as elegant, but never as entrancing as he did now.

He had consciously crossed his legs sometime before, hopefully hiding his throbbing erection. He’d slipped free of his boxers at some point and his cock was twitching and rubbing painfully against his zip. He moved a little in his seat, attempting to ease his discomfort. 

He was well down his second glass, but nothing was taking the edge off how he felt. He could feel pre-cum leaking from his cock and he wondered how long before a wet spot showed, however dark his trousers were.

...................................

He snapped back to awareness as he heard the lock of the door being turned. He swung his head round and could see Malcolm with his back to him. 

Baldy had left and he had no idea if he’d fallen asleep, or if he’d completely tuned out everything thinking about Malcolm.

Footsteps approached his chair and Malcolm was in front of him, crowding him, leaning into his body space. Jamie inhaled and could smell the cigar smoke, the whiskey, cologne and Malcolm.

He leant forward, his head by Jamie’s ear, he was speaking, and Jamie hadn’t heard a word.

“Are ye fucking awake now, eh?”

He could feel the hot breath against his ear, he just couldn’t turn to look at Malcolm. He couldn’t say “fuck off, leave me the fuck alone, its been a long day.” 

He couldn’t laugh. He couldn’t just shove Malcolm away.

Malcolm spoke again.

“What do you want?”

For all Jamie knew, Malcolm was asking him about a takeaway, but he knew his answer all the same.

He grabbed Malcolm’s tie and pulled him against him. 

One of Malcolm’s hands landed on his chest the other thumped by his ear.

For this moment he could meet his eyes.

“I want you.”

Fuck, he’d said it, he’d said it aloud.

With his free hand, he gripped Malcolm’s face and kissed him. Their noses missed, but teeth collided.

Any second now he expected Malcolm to wrench free and punch him. And then, Malcolm did pull back. His stare fierce and implacable.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

Malcolm’s fingers, which he had begun to covet, carded through Jamie’s hair as he settled astride his lap. He kissed softly along Jamie’s jaw and down his throat.

Jamie spent moments frozen in shock before wrapping his arms around Malcolm and capturing his mouth with his own. Kissing was kissing. Kissing he could do, everything else, anything else, he would trust in Malcolm.

Malcolm pulled back again and Jamie was aware he sighed in disappointment. He was stunned at how needy he sounded. How much he wanted Malcolm.

“You, earlier, the fucking photoshoot. You looked at me, like you’d just won the giant fucking teddy bear at the fair. What got into you?”

He had noticed, the fucker.

Jamie said nothing, but allowed his fingers to find the gap in Malcolm’s shirt. He acted on his earlier impulses and pulled the shirt apart and tasted Malcolm’s skin.


	2. Tomorrow or today, or both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well it wasn't really fair to leave it where I did

“Slow the fuck down will ye?” Malcolm firmly grasped Jamie’s hair.

Jamie grinned at him savagely and kissed Malcolm hard. He placed frantic kisses up and down his neck. He smiled harder and bit.

Malcolm actually moaned.

“If you leave a mark anyone can see, I will fucking knock you into next week.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Jamie laughed and sucked and licked over the very conspicuous mark he had already made. He pulled Malcolm’s shirt open more, ignoring the furious protest as buttons pinged. He kissed and sucked over his collar bone and down to his nipple. It couldn’t be that different from a woman’s surely? He teased over the nub of flesh with his teeth, gently pulling and licking and blowing hot breath over the tormented skin. Malcolm may have groaned – nnngh – fuck, what his sounds did to him.

Fuck, this was Malcolm, Malcolm Fucking Tucker. He had known him for over 20 years. Oh, fuck. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he could do this. But oh, the delicious noises he was making, he craved more, he wanted more, he wanted to see Malcolm fall apart and he wanted to be the one to make it happen. It didn’t make the panic any less real.

He slipped his hand down, working Malcolm’s belt free, pulling down his zip and touching him

“Dear fucking god, are you this fucking rough with yourself. Have some finesse man.” Malcolm’s fingers twisted his hair. 

“Let me show you.”

He moved Jamie’s hands away from him. Jamie couldn’t help but squirm, just a little as Malcolm’s fingers began to stroke him through the fabric of his trousers. He also couldn’t help the twitching or the grinding of his hips up against Malcolm, chasing more contact, more of anything. 

For someone so slight, Malcolm was surprisingly strong, he grasped Jamie’s hands and lifted them above his head. He buried his head in the crook of his neck and nipped against his pulse point.

“Hey what did you say about not marking?”

“My rules to make and break.”

And then, he kissed him. Fuck, he’d experimented, a bit, he would have never called himself bi, but there had been a couple of other priests when he was in the seminary. There had been lots of women since then, too many shallow, tawdry, meaningless encounters. But, no-one had ever kissed him like Malcolm was now. Fuck, what that man could do with his tongue. His brain almost shut down when he thought about Malcolm’s mouth round his cock. Fuck, he was going to come just from Malcolm kissing him if he didn’t get a grip on his thoughts. Think about Margaret Thatcher, that always worked.

Malcolm’s fingers dipped under the waistband of Jamie’s trousers, his hand closing round his cock. He lifted Jamie’s chin with his other hand and ensured he was looking right at him. Malcolm smirked at him, he could feel just how wet and ready for him Jamie was. His fingers stroked firmly along the length of Jamie, his thumb just teasing the tip of his cock. Jamie unashamedly moaned when Malcolm stopped. 30 years of wanking and Malcolm had shown him he was doing it wrong – not wrong, but nothing had ever felt like Malcolm’s hands on him.

Malcolm breathed open mouthed and ran his tongue over his lips – if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing Jamie had ever seen. The muscles bunched along his jaw and holding Jamie’s face with one hand he kissed him, softly, wetly, open mouthed, his tongue flickering over his ear and jaw and chin and lips. Oh fuck, he gently rolled Jamie’s balls between his fingers, pulling on him ever so slightly, making him gasp again and moan and whine and try to thrust up against him. He really wasn’t going to last. His fingers so, so gently stroked the skin behind his balls, and Jamie just writhed.

He forgot where they were, he forgot about the day behind them. He focused everything on Malcolm. He didn’t want Malcolm to suddenly think about what they were doing, and stop. Oh fuck, there was no way he would hold it together if Malcolm stopped. He would beg him, he would plead with him, anything, just don’t fucking stop.

“Do you want this?”

“Fuck yes, anything, more.”

Jamie never imagined Malcolm was like this, never imagined he would allow him this much control, that he would be so responsive, so kind, making this the hottest and the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. And he would kill anyone who told him he’d just thought that.

“Get up, aye love?” Malcolm climbed off his lap and stepped back.

Don’t let him stop this, don’t let him stop this, don’t let him stop this, don’t let him stop this.

Jamie stood up, feeling unbelievably awkward. Malcolm brushed his face with his hand, slid his fingers into his hair and pulled him against him and kissed him into near oblivion. Jamie tried to put his hands everywhere, finally settling on gripping Malcolm’s arse and pulling them flush against each other. The friction of their cocks rubbing against each other as their bodies moved was mind blowing. Jamie had long since abandoned coherent thought just chasing each and every sensation, each and every touch, his tongue pushing and sucking and caressing.

Malcolm pushed Jamie’s trousers down from his hips, taking his underwear with them. He shoved his own down too, completing the ungainly task of kicking off his shoes and socks too with surprising skill and ease. Jamie didn’t spend any time considering how delicious Malcolm’s cock looked, thick and long and dripping – he moved to touch him but he pushed Jamie back into the chair. 

Oh fucking fuck, he was sinking to his knees in front of him. He was looking at him, running the tip of his tongue over his lips and then he was kissing his thighs and trailing his tongue over the same path. Jamie desperately played images of Ann Widdecombe and Michael Gove in his head, anything to hold on a little longer, make this last, don’t let it end. And...oh shit, Malcolm’s mouth, hot and wet and soft and amazing and then his tongue. Sliding against him, teasing up and down his length, long broad flat swipes and then delicate teasing probes. Jamie’s head was thrown against the back of the chair and with every fibre of his being he fought not to clamp his hands in Malcolm’s hair and thrust and thrust and thrust into that amazing mouth. Then that too was lost as Malcolm swallowed him down and then pulled back and released him with a soft, wet pop. 

Malcolm straddled Jamie’s lap, his bony knees clamped each side of his thighs. He kissed him again, his tongue twirling with his, and he realised he could taste himself. He thought, perhaps he should be disgusted, that he should recoil, but somehow it was hotter and better and really, truly, he couldn’t last.

He closed his hand over both their cocks, his long fingers swiping through their arousals and rubbing the slick wetness over their lengths. Looking into his eyes he was no less lost than him – his pupils blown, just a ring of bright indefinable colour and the inky depths, reflecting his own need back.

His had worked faster, pulling and twisting just so. Touching all the best spots, keeping Jamie on the edge longer than he thought possible. His head was buried in Malcolm’s neck just nuzzling against him, not enough breath left to kiss.

“Just fucking come, aye?”

And that was it. He thrust into Malcolm’s grasp one last time and he was coming over his stomach and chest, and his eyes were closed and he wasn’t sure he could open them again, or if he wanted to. He was just about aware of Malcolm coming with a growl, the feeling of his hot wetness over him. With no strength or co-ordination remaining he wrapped his arms round Malcolm, holding him against him, mumbling nonsense into his hair.

He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, their sweat cooling and drying. At some point Malcolm had wiped them both off and pressed one last kiss against his jaw. Distantly a phone was ringing. Malcolm stood, collected his clothes and walked back to his desk, answering the phone, running his hand through his hair – wrecked and dishevelled, but somehow sounding professional. Soon it was shouting and ranting and gesticulating. 

Jamie wearily stood, pulled his clothes together and got ready to leave, formulating in his head exactly what he wouldn’t say tomorrow.

He got as far as the door, his hand on the key, and then he felt Malcolm’s hand on his arm. Turned and saw Malcolm clutching the phone against his chest and he kissed him.

“Next time? Aye?” with that, he turned back to the call and away from Jamie.

Next time, next time he’d said, maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be quite so terrible. And no, he hadn't thought that and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was their first "encounter", its in work, its in the office, its after an impossible day - they are both exhausted and really, pretty much everything is a revelation to Jamie - so if you were expecting more, it wasn't going to happen, this time....
> 
> and, if you have never followed British politics, you would never want the image of Ann Widdecombe and Michael Gove in your head during sex, trust me on this

**Author's Note:**

> like this? let me know
> 
> don't like this? let me know
> 
> if you don't like commenting publicly, my email is on my profile
> 
> and, thank you for reading
> 
> and if you follow me on tumblr, my cat really did eat the first page of this fic


End file.
